


to boldly (kinda sorta) go

by mishcollin



Category: Star Trek, Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Castiel, Fluff, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishcollin/pseuds/mishcollin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one where Team Free Will and Charlie cosplay as Star Trek characters. Post-season 8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to boldly (kinda sorta) go

When Charlie Bradbury shows up to the bunker with three _USS Enterprise_ costumes and a six-pack of Corona, the last thing she expects to find is a third Winchester.

But that’s exactly what she gets.

The man who opens the door after she gives the secret knock (the syllables to “mischief managed”) definitely looks like a Winchester. Rumpled hair, flannel shirt that’s two times too big, and rocking the five o’clock shadow. As well as weirdly colored, weirdly intense eyes. That also seems to be trademark of the Winchester way.

“Um…” Charlie says, her hand still poised in a fist. “Am I supposed to know you?”

The man tips his head inquisitively. “You’re not the pizza man.”

“Pizza…man…” Something about his words sparks a sense memory, or a reminder, and Charlie’s mouth falls open in an audible whoosh.

The man, Castiel, she presumes, looks startled.

“Oh my God. Ohmygod. Are you Castiel?”

Castiel’s eyebrows knit together and he squints at her uncertainly—just like in the books, a part of Charlie’s mind notes. “Have we met somewhere before?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean…” Charlie half-winces, half-shrugs. “Kind of. I know you, but you don’t know me.” Wow, he’s prettier than she expected.

“Cas,” Dean’s impatient voice echoes from the depths of the bunker behind him. “How long does it take to pay for a damn pizza?”

“Are you guys living together now?” Charlie asks, her eyes widening. “Wow, that’s so unexpectedly domestic.”

Dean flanks Cas at the door and his eyes light up in surprise and warmth. “Charlie! What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

“There’s an open convention in Omaha and I’m not going without you and Sam,” Charlie replies, letting herself in past Cas, who’s still watching her in that fixated alien-like way of his. “I brought costumes and everything.”

Dean recognizes the yellow and blue attire instantly, an enthusiastic grin pulling up the corner of his mouth. “Oh _hell_ yes.”

“But we’ll talk about that later. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” Charlie widens her eyes at Dean, letting him know that she’s freaking out because _holy shit it’s Cas_ , and Dean gazes back at her perplexedly for a moment before rolling his eyes.

“Charlie,” Dean says with infinite patience, “this is Cas. Cas, meet Charlie Bradbury.”

“Dean talks about you all the time,” Charlie says, solely to spite Dean.

Dean muffles a _“nngh”_ sound and plants his face in the palm of his hand. Oh yes. This is gonna be fun.

—-

After Charlie and Sam reacquaint themselves, Charlie launches into the battle-plan for the convention; Dean listens attentively, Sam looks slightly scared, and Cas watches on in confusion.

“Alright, I didn’t incorporate Cas into the scenario, but of course I’m prepared so I always bring extras. Slight change of plans.” She points at Dean. “You’re Kirk.” Dean fist-pumps. Sam rolls his eyes. Charlie points at Cas. “You’re Spock. Gilda was gonna be Uhura, but she had some fey jury duty or something so I’m taking over for her.”

“Who were you gonna be previously?” Dean asks.

“Scotty. Duh. But we need a representative female.”

“Wait,” Sam interjects, looking put out. “Who am I supposed to be?”

“McCoy. Duh.”

Sam ponders this for a moment, then juts his lip and shrugs.

“May I ask what the plan is?” Cas asks, looking lost, and there’s no way Charlie can miss the fond, warm look Dean shoots his way, an affection that’s only slightly dimmed when Cas meets his eyes and they take up staring at each other.

“Dean,” Charlie says after a moment of Sam and Charlie feeling awkward (although Sam has the look of the martyr about him), “have you heard of the internet phenomenon called Destiel?”

Dean’s nose wrinkles. “What’s that, a foot fungus?”

“Yeah. That’s what it is.”

“If I am understanding correctly,” Cas says, steepling his fingers and perching his chin on his fingertips, “we are to don attire as television show characters and then attend a large communal gathering of people doing the same?”

“Exactly,” Charlie replies, beaming.

Cas frowns. “I don’t know who ‘Spock’ is.”

Dean almost downright has an aneurysm.

“You’ve never—” he splutters, “you’ve never even _heard_ of _Star Trek_?”

“No. Why would I have?”

Dean casts a look of baffled amazement around the room, as if hoping someone will share his indignation with the fact that an angel of the Lord hasn’t seen a low-budget 60’s sci-fi TV show.

“Yeah, well, you don’t get to be human and not have heard of Star Trek. Sam, pop in the first season. I’m making popcorn while we wait for the pizza.”

Which leaves Charlie to process the fact that Cas is no longer an angel and man, the fans are gonna be divided.

—-

Cas seems to be more invested in _Star Trek_ than Charlie thought he would be; both he and Dean are leaning forward on the couch, legs touching, chins propped on their knuckles as they watch the battle scenes in engrossment. Charlie mainly watches them and smiles because honestly, Dean deserves friends outside her and Sam and his camaraderie with Cas is heartwarming.

Sam types away at his laptop, only half-watching, which irritates Dean.

“Really, Sam, researching again? It’s a sickness. Give it a rest.”

“What are you researching?” Charlie asks from where she’s squashed into the corner of the couch, hoping he says another case.

“I’m researching Destiel,” Sam says, and God knows how he keeps a straight face.

“Foot fungus?” Charlie asks, just as somber.

“No, actually, it seems to be a rare disease. Get this, though,” Sam says with exaggerated intrigue. “It seems to only infect gay men. Maybe we should look into it. Sound like our kind of thing, Dean?”

Charlie chokes.

Dean either ignores him or doesn’t hear him, jiggling his knees a bit as he watches the cheesy fight scene on screen.

Cas tilts his head toward Sam and frowns. “In all my years of considerable experience, I’ve never heard of that particular illness before.”

“Cas, pay attention,” Dean commands, swatting his knee, “this is important.”

“I don’t recognize the language as any that I know, and it’s vexing to me,” Cas says, clearly put out.

“It’s _Klingon_ , Cas, you’re not supposed to understand it. Just read the subtitles.”

“Symptoms are odd, too,” Sam pursues, and when Charlie looks over, she notices his mouth twitching uncontrollably. “The main symptom seems to be anal swelling.”

Charlie manages a mangled squeak and a, “I’m getting a beer,” while Dean bitches behind her, “Would you shut up about your gross butt sickness, Sam? Cas and I are trying to watch.”

—-

Dean, Cas, and Charlie all crash on the couch that night, but when Charlie wakes up around 5:30 am, Cas’ rumpled spot next to Dean is vacant. Charlie frowns and glances around the room in disorientation, but the former angel is nowhere to be found. Slowly, so she doesn’t wake Dean, she slides her kneecap out from where Dean is pinning it with his face, slight snores rumbling intermittently in his chest. Unable to resist, she snaps a picture and sets it as Dean’s caller ID before wandering off to locate Cas.

“Where did you flap off to this time,” she murmurs to herself, only to be answered when she rounds the path into the kitchen and finds Cas seated at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand.

Cas appears surprised but not unwelcoming. “Good morning, Charlie.”

“Hiya, Cas.” She shuffles over and plops into the chair beside him, smiling a bit awkwardly. “You like coffee now?”

“I’ve acquired a taste,” Cas answers with an almost sad smile, wrinkling the crow’s feet etched around his eyes.

A few moments of silence fall. Cas doesn’t seem to mind it, gazing around the kitchen with a pensive, almost serene look on his face as he sips from his mug, but Charlie squirms.

“So,” she begins, softly. “I’m sorry to hear you’re not an angel anymore.”

Charlie could swear Cas flinches.

“Yes,” he says, slowly setting down his mug with a soft thud. “I am too.”

“Is being human so bad?” Charlie asks, a bit timidly, because hello, ex-angel. He still intimidates the hell out of her. It also feels oddly like meeting a celebrity or an imaginary friend. Or an imaginary friend who’s a celebrity.

“It’s miserable,” Cas says, his voice hushed, and Charlie feels her heart sink a bit. “I put on a show for Dean so he doesn’t feel bad about it, but I can feel the absence of my grace like a ghost limb. I was, for millennia, one way, and now I am not. But I will adjust. Humans are known for their adaptability.”

“What happened?” Charlie asks.

Cas fills her in, glancing up every now and then at the doorway as if afraid Dean will walk in, and by the time he’s finished, Charlie sits in brooding silence.

“Wow,” she says. “Could’ve said spoiler alert.”

Cas cocks his head and frowns.

“Never mind. I take it you don’t want to talk about it?”

The smile Cas gives her in response is tight and slightly uncomfortable. “Not particularly.”

“Okay. Let’s talk about something else. What’s going on with you and Dean?” Her tone is playful and a bit mischievous, which of course goes straight over Cas’ head.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you guys…” She trails off expectantly and raises her eyebrows.

“You’re inquiring about the nature of our relationship,” Cas says, almost carefully. “Dean and I are good friends.”

“That’s it?”

Cas averts his eyes and answers, “Yes,” and Charlie knows something’s up.

“Cas. Come on. You can tell me. I won’t tell Dean if you do.”

Cas blinks at her, his face ambivalent, while steam curls up in thin ribbons from his coffee.

“I’m unsure of Dean’s intentions toward me,” Cas confesses in a low rush. “We are very good friends, but sometimes I wonder if our relationship borders on codependent.”

Charlie sighs and shakes her head. “The Winchester life.”

“Sometimes our friendship feels potentially romantic in nature, but I know that cannot be. So I consistently find myself bewildered and perplexed. I am human now, so there’s no way for me to gauge what Dean is thinking other than what I intuit from his mannerisms and expressions.”

“Well, Cas, I don’t know what to tell you, but—” Charlie cuts herself off because Dean wanders in and Cas sits up straight like a jack-knife.

“You’re up early,” Charlie covers quickly, her voice too high-pitched to be above suspicion, and Dean eyes her warily as he pads toward the coffee maker.

“Um, yeah,” he says, all squinty and his voice gravelly with sleep, “you said we had to leave by 7. We still have to pack the car up and stuff.”

“Right, yeah,” Charlie says, too awkwardly, and Dean is definitely staring at her now. “I’ll, um, go get the costumes and—yeah.” And with that, she flees the room.

—-

Getting ready for the convention seems to transpire in a tangled blur. Preparing costume-wise doesn’t take too long (except trying to figure out Cas’ eyebrows is a bitch), and Charlie is attaching prosthetic ears to Cas’ head when he asks, “Conventions, they make Dean happy?”

Dean and Sam are already waiting outside the Omaha motel room they’d booked, but Charlie still glances over her shoulder to check before she smiles up at Cas and nods.

“Dean won’t admit it, but he’s a _huge_ geek,” Charlie says. “Which, you know, rock on.”

Cas nods once, narrowing his eyes in contemplation. “If they make him happy, you should take him to more of them.”

“Oh, I intend to. That dude’s pretty enough to cosplay anything. We’ll win every time. Plus he’s got that whole ‘fuck with me and I’ll beat you up’ sort of look, so we’ll probably win costume contests by intimidation tactics.” Charlie steps back from her work and sizes Cas up before grinning widely. “You make a hot Spock, Cas. The eyebrows are a bit off but you make it work.”

Cas smiles. “I like Spock. I feel I relate to him, in some ways.”

“Hmm, I can see that.”

“You make a formidable Uhura.”

Charlie glances at her short red dress, her black tights, and black boots and shrugs. “Eh, Gilda would’ve worn it better. But oh well. Come on, they’re waiting.”

Dean’s reaction to Cas in cosplay is fucking hilarious and Charlie wishes with every fiber of her being that she’d caught it on camera. His eyes go all wide and dilated when Cas walks out and his mouth sort of bobs open like a fish’s a few times before he manages, very courageously, to force out a slightly strangled, “Looking good, Cas.”

Cas glances down and frowns. “The shirt’s a little tight for my liking.”

“Yeah,” Dean nearly squeaks.

Sam, his broad shoulders filling out the blue Enterprise shirt a little too conspicuously, just shoots a withering, exasperated look at Charlie, to which she smirks, and says, “Alright, come on. We’re going to be late.”

The convention itself is busier than expected, and Charlie “live long and prosper“‘s her way through quite a few gatherings of people before she finds the other _Star Trek_ people. Charlie knows two from past LARPing conventions, who she hugs and chats up (another Kirk and a Scotty, after all). The three boys look slightly uncomfortable in their skin, as if they don’t really belong, but they seem content enough to watch the varied outfits as they parade past while Charlie catches up with her friends.

“Oh, God,” Charlie hears Dean say a while later in a nauseated voice, and she turns to see the cause of conflict and grins when she spots it.

“Dean?” Cas asks in comedic confusion as three kids, donned in plaid shirts and a trenchcoat go past, “Is that—are they supposed to—”

“Don’t associate with them, Cas, they’re scary people.”

“Wait up, ya idjits!” some girl in a worn baseball cap yells to the fake Team Free Will walking past, and Dean groans and face-palms again.

“I like the trenchcoated one,” Cas says, and Dean, face still hidden, shakes his head.

—-

The highlight of the day for Charlie occurs possibly while waiting in line with Dean to get Lightsaber Popsicles (“come on, Dean, please, they light up and they’re huge, you can’t get another chance like this!”).

Two girls in jeans and plaid shirts stand in front of them engaged in deep conversation, and one is wearing the Samulet while the other has a fake Colt strapped on her belt.

“I say this out of love, really I do, but Supernatural’s misogynistic treatment of women is absolutely appalling,” the girl with the Samulet is saying. “I mean, not including female characters is one thing, but to kill and devalue the sole ones you have is just perpetuating harmful gender expectations.”

The other girl with the Colt is bobbing her head emphatically while Dean looks affronted.

“And don’t even get me started on the heterosexism in those books,” Samulet says.

“Oh, I wouldn’t necessarily say that’s true,” says the girl with the Colt. “I mean, look at Dean and Cas. They’re almost canonically meant to be.”

Don’t look at him, don’t look at him. 

She can’t help it; she looks at him. Dean’s gone rigid, eyes practically bulging.

“Edlund basically utilized every romantic trope in the book for the two of them,” Samulet agrees. “I mean, you don’t fall from heaven for a _friend_ , am I right?”

“Write it on my grave,” Colt says wistfully. “‘Tell my grandkids that in the end, Destiel was canon.’” And they move on to talking about the upcoming season of _Teen Wolf._

Charlie glances over at Dean again. He’s slowly mouthing the word “Destiel”, as if in the process of putting two and two together.

“Any last words, Kirk?” Charlie says with an elbow to Dean’s side.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I’m gonna fucking kill Sam.”


End file.
